Au Revoir, Noble Assassin
by Spicers Apple
Summary: A story I filled on the AC kink meme. The prompt: Connor gets backed into a corner by a few too many bored redcoats. Rated M for a reason. Multiple RedcoatsxConnor, mentions of Achilles, and a dose of Fatherly!Haytham love


Alternate title:

A Love for War Does Not a Hero Make, For It Inspires the Utmost Hate

I filled this prompt on the AC kink meme over on Dreamwidth and decided I'd post it here as well for all of you to enjoy. :)

h_ttp_:/_/asscreedkinkmeme_.dreamwidth_.org_/1795_ .ht_ml_?thread=8633603#cmt8633603 (delete all the _ to see it)

This vid is totally relevant! It's not my video, my account is the same there as on here, SpicersApple.

ht_tp:_/_/_www_.youtube._com_/watch_?_v=ikXlAAItheE

The grammar and word choice are meant to evoke the sense of being in colonial America (i.e. British), which is different than my normal writing style that you may be used to reading. Some of the more awkward descriptions are so on purpose, you don't need to point that out to me. I know already.

-x-

Connor thinks he may have overdone it this time. He became just a little _too_ brash, a little _too _careless, running across rooftops and hopping down to run through the streets when the Brits started to chase him. Their annoyed calls of "Stop right there!" were unheard to the Assassin as Connor hightailed it away from them as fast as he could all the way across Boston, blood pumping loudly, almost painfully in his ears.

He ran into an alley, not realizing in time that there were stationed guards there, enforcing a checkpoint.

He ran _right_ into them.

"Watch it!" one of the two soldiers yelled, shoving Connor back with the side of his musket. Connor just stood there anxiously, eyes widening and darting around. This was _not_ good.

Dawdling here for a few seconds allowed the rest of the soldiers he encountered on the way to surround him. He saw their unmistakable red garments out of the corners of his eyes, coming closer to him swiftly on both sides. It seems that killing a few guards earlier in the day was a bad move, as now it was likely all the guards in Boston have caught up to him in desire for imperial vengeance. Connor sucked in a breath and barreled forward, tearing through the two guards in front of him with his tomahawk, trying to knock them away so he can make the most efficient escape possible unscathed by the legion behind him fastly approaching.

He ran down the alley as quickly as he can, panting from deeply settled-in exhaustion. He unknowingly flinged Redcoats' blood off the metallic blade of his favored weapon as he went, not paying attention to their blood splattering across the brick walls around him. He emerged in a back yard of some sort, a passageway between several surrounding buildings and houses. The somewhat circular area had a convenient haystack on a cart for him to hide in, but Connor shook his head and went past it. There's no way he could hide there successfully in time. The guards were right behind him, surely, and he was Notoriety level 3.

He briefly thought about Achilles, how he would scold him like an old, worried father for being so reckless. He would be right in that and Connor would willingly accept whatever punishment or lecture his mentor would think up as a just recompense. However, he could not die here. He needed to live.

Connor focused his thoughts, so as not to let his mind wander enough to give his enemies an advantage. He quickened his pace, preparing to vault over a staircase and freerun up a wall to get to the roof of his chosen getaway point and make his way safely back to the Homestead.

What he didn't realize, was he attracted the ill will of a few Hessian soldiers in the process of becoming so infamous in this town. They quickly caught up to him with their superior speed to his own and right before Connor could make his first jump to freedom, he sunk to the ground, a sword stabbing through his robes and piercing into his flesh. He fell to his knees from the unexpected pain flooding throughout his body, originating from behind him on the left side of his waist. His body shakily shook and he drew in quick rasping breaths, air whistling through his teeth from being clenched so tightly together.

_'Achilles. I have made a costly error this day. I hope you can forgive me.'_

-x-

_The sword tore so easily into his body..._

Connor's vision was growing blurry. In the span of what only seemed to be a second, he felt the sword extricate from his side, only to feel a different one plunge deep inside.

Connor coughed wetly, spitting up blood. The Hessians seemed amused, taking turns cutting him open in the same spot over and over again. He could hear multiple men snickering sadistically as they tortured the once-threatening Assassin, who was no more than a dog's feeble chew toy now. Or, in this case, a whole nation's play toy. They wanted to make quite a show of the Assassin's rebellion.

Then, of course, the way the soldiers reacted now seemed to scream something about more than being a playtoy they wanted of him.

_They wanted a sex toy._

The last thing Connor remembers when his eyes roll up in the back of his head and he collapses, is a pair of boots appearing in front of his face. And another to his side. Then two more on his other side. Just too many... _Redcoats._

Connor closes his eyes.

-x-

"H...e's no...t...d...ead!"

Connor slowly came to consciousness again, but only halfway. He could hear people speaking all around him, but it felt like everything was playing in slow motion. A dull migraine turned head-splitting when several boots kicked at his face; gently, cautiously.

"He's still alive! I can see he's breathing!"

"What kind of rebel _is_ he? How is he still alive?"

Connor groaned weakly when he felt himself rolling over onto his side. He wasn't doing it on his own, no. His arms felt like lead, his legs crippled and unresponsive...

His body started shutting down, trying its hardest to keep him alive.

However, he would rather die than agonizingly survive with this insane amount of pain. He was way beyond his threshold and didn't think he'd ever recover. He felt... defeated. A part of him wanted to say goodbye to his Assasssin self and leave this world forever with his spirit, yet another part wanted Achilles to rescue him. But could he even hold out that long? Against whatever these Redcoats were planning for him?

Connor managed to open his eyes, only barely, and open his mouth to moan in pain as a few soldiers grabbed his arms and slowly flipped him onto his back. Connor could feel his own dried blood caking around the corners of his mouth and was nearly unable to process the sound of patronizing laughter and jeering.

_Was it all directed at him...?_

-x-

Connor sluggishly looked around himself, his eyelids feeling tired and heavy. His head was totally immobile, for reasons unknown. And he seemed to be sitting up now.

Weird.

He felt something dripping down his face, slowly drying and sticking to him. More laughter.

_What was going on?_

-x-

"No, it's my turn!"

"We already agreed, we are doing it by rank!"

"You remember, we just talked about it!"

"Stop being so impatient! Oh, what's this?"

Connor could finally see... somewhat clearly. There were three soldiers in front of him, wobbling around and becoming fuzzy, and then clear again.

_Then fuzzy._ Somehow, now his head was turned to the side. His ribs hurt and he felt like he was going to vomit.

One of his ribs was probably broken. All he could see was a black haze, as someone covered his eyes with something. His mouth was filled with something, harshly sliding in and out. His hand was wrapped around something, languidly stroking with the aid of of a crushing glove wrapped around his fingers.

_Boot prints._ He could feel them on his chest, on his knuckles. They stung like fire and agony. So _they _were the ones who broke one of his ribs, messed up a hand.

Connor could still see nothing, and slowly it dawned on him _why._ His trousers were bunched down around his ankles, which must mean his sash was..._  
_

Connor bit down. He knew he could taste blood; someone else's blood, this time. Then, he witnessed a blood-curdling yell and became very, very dizzy. He was now laying on his back, and many, many hands were upon him now, removing his remaining clothes, tearing some of it, scratching his skin and leaving red marks and welts. _Even teeth marks._

_On his neck. _Followed by fingers clenching tightly, sucking all the air out of his throat. Connor realized that it was Charles Lee, choking him again.

Yet it was not. Someone was grabbing his chin, someone else's tongue forcing down his throat. Connor gagged and his body retched, lurching upward in revulsion. Someone lay their boot on top of his caved-in rib and steadily pressed down, adding more pressure.

Connor screamed, opening his mouth wider. The invading tongue was gone. And now there were two.

Two erections.

-x-

"Wait, stop. I think he's had enough. You don't really want him to die now, do you?"

"Of course not. This is way too fun-"

-x-

"Hey, are you alright?"

Connor blinked, and his body twitched, becoming more alert. He'd just heard Achilles! He came to save-

"Ssh." A soothing voice said softly, comforting him. Connor's sash was being untied from around his eyes.

He felt like crying, if he even could at this point, when he was able to see again. This person was definitely not Achilles.

A small smile, reassuringly, and a blanket was wrapped around him. Connor was sitting with his back resting against a crate, and his rear was seated on something really scratchy.

_Hay._

"Haytham..." Connor weakly called out, despite himself. Another smile.

"It seems I was too late to aid you properly in your plight, but I have resolved the situation rather nicely, nonetheless."

Connor looked at him with droopy eyes. It was night-time now, and everything that happened was one big incohesive mess. Had he really been out in this alley all day long? _Doing..._

"Unspeakable things? Yes, you did. But, I gave them all the greatest dose of vengeance they could receive. ...No one harms my son."

Connor looked at Haytham questioningly, surprised at what he admitted in an unguarded moment. Haytham didn't seem embarrassed by his feelings about this situation at all. Or what he had witnessed. He simply seemed furious, stricken by indignant anger at the injustice of what happened to his child as if he could not allow or abide such mortal sin to ever be committed in his presence.

"Connor, come with me. I wish to show you something."

Connor simply nodded. Haytham let his face soften somewhat, looking truly caring, and knelt down to help the boy to his feet. Connor tried to stand up but trembled and nearly collapsed had Haytham not helpfully flung his arms out to catch him from crashing down into the marbled asphault below. He already had enough bruises, broken bones and a broken heart as it was. Haytham carefully guided Connor's arm over a shoulder and wrapped one of his arms around Connor's front to support him. Connor's broken hand fell limply across Haytham's chest and his healthy hand grabbed at the blanket around him, clutching it together like a poncho. His clothes were somehow already redressed on him, though bloodstained and ratty. He didn't want any more attention from random people directed his way. He has had enough of that for a lifetime.

Haytham helped him hobble out from around the side of the large wooden box, and after a few minutes of guided walking and small words of encouragement from his father, a small glimmer of hope came into Connor's eyes, eyes that were once dulled and became lifeless from his prior encounters.

They were now in the middle of the Boston Harbor, and a heaping pile of gruesomely-disfigured dead bodies lay before them on a British ship. Redcoats, covered in red. Puddles of blood soaking into the wooden boards of the hull. What a sight.

What a damn beautiful sight. Connor smiled.

"Nia:wen, raké:ni."

Haytham turned his face to look at his son, enjoying the sight of him finding an amused humor and irony in this little turn of events. Haytham "Hmm'd" playfully, hinting coyly that he was up to something. He took his flintlock pistol out of its holster and handed it around to Connor.

"Want to dump the bodies?"

Connor let go of the blanket, dropping it to the ground and took the gun out of Haytham's hand with a genuine, thankful smile on his face.

"I would be most happy to."

He then aimed right at a barrel of explosives that Haytham conveniently placed on the ship next to the deceased evil-doers.

One perfectly-placed shot, and explosion after explosion wracked across the ship, blasting it apart like it was a cheap toy to destroy. Shrapnel flew across the docking bay and into the ocean, revealing that Haytham had taken the extra time to place several more barrels down below the hull. The ship had met its gratifying end, along with all the soldiers aboard it.

The second most beautiful sight in the world, was the ship sinking, down, down into nothingness, the pale full moon in the night sky reflecting off the rapidly-moving waves, blood coloring the surface of the disturbed froth below.

A timeless memory, enjoyed by Father and Son.

-x-

A full moon makes people do crazy things.

And it makes once-bad people come to those in need.

Perhaps they shall fight one another no longer in the future, quarrel no more. They have bonded.


End file.
